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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






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Republican Press Ass'n, 

Printing and Binding, 

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MARY WOODWELL 



A MEDLEY 



BY C. C. LORD 










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COPYRIGHT 1891 
BY C. C. I.ORI) 




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PRELUDE 



|\UT of the shadow, something sings ; 
^ The prospect dim, the end obscure. 
Evokes a theme of clearer things, 

Bright music sweet, to thought allure. 

Out of the burden, something sings ; 

The cumbrous weight, the tiresome load, 
A descant wakes that blithely springs. 

And, vocal, cheers the weary road. 

Out of the straitness, something sings ; 

The narrow bound, the crowded place. 
Evolves a strain on restless wings 

That soars and floats in amplest space. 

Out of the silence, something sings ; 

The tuneless hour, the voiceless time, 
Is thrilled by melody that brings. 

From God's great heart, a hope sublime. 



MARY WOODWELL 



M^HERE is a slope that, down the eastern hill, 

Glides to thev/estern vale, where a bright stream 
Descends, a silver line, that, w^avy, gleams 
And makes the prospect of the landscape sweet. 
A village nestles by the river bright, 
And, far around, the hills and mountains rise, 
While here and there the eye, for rare delight, 
Roams o'er the scene the lofty heights enclose. 
Thus from the eastern hill, on some rare day. 
One looks and thinks of nature in a dream. ^ 

Perchance to muse on fertile legends old, 

One sits upon the brow of old Gould's hill,^ 

And looks aross the vale of Contoocook, 

In quiet loveliness. The car of day 

Hies to the west, and in soft radiance 

Decks in rare lustre all the distant peaks ; 

Bold Kearsarge,^ the tamer Minks, ^ and all 

The mounts and hills that skirt the bounded west. 

In fancy form a line of gilded wards 

That keep the peace below where beauty sleeps. 



6 MA/?y WOOD WELL. 

O balm in such a scene to soothe the brain 

In stress of thoughtful toils ! Who sees, his mind 

Drops its dull cares and courts sweet reverie, 

As with uncovered head he takes the breath 

Of gentle zephyrs on his fevered brow. 

The burdened thought rolls off, and then, for pain. 

Lithe fancy weaves a mantle of delight 

And casts it on him, and his grief is o'er ; 

And haply then he cons departed years. 

And reads a legend in his waking dream. 



Interlude. 

^WEET friend, thy wonder wakes to mark mine eyes 
>^ As fixed on scenes beyond, or land, or sea ; 
I look past clouds where sunlight glints and dies, 
While talking still with thee. 

Mine eyes express the burden of my heart ; 

My contemplation views celestial fields. 
Where love walks free and dear ones never part. 
When absence o^er me steals. 

Thou and the present form my souPs delight. 

But time's swift raptures but a moment stay ; 
My captive spirit craves its onward flight 
With thee to endless day. 



MARY WOODWELL. 7 

f^AR back in early days,^ as runs a tale, 
' Just down the slope, where curves the broad 
highway, 
There stood a garrison,^ that kept the key 
Of safety of the dwellers in the w^ild. 
Brave David Woodwell there had fixed a home, 
And to its shelter all his household brought ; 
And when the distant sun dropped down the west. 
His neighbor Burbank,"^ christened Samuel, 
With wife and children shared the stronger roof; 
For direful war in menace held the land. 
And the red savage roamed with weapons keen.^ 

As thus one evening, gathered for the night. 
The double household whiled the hours away. 
Brave Woodwell and sound Burbank talked like men. 
And told what great awards of peace would come, 
If once, like Louisburg one year ago,^ 
Quebec should fall, and all the French redoubts. 
From north to south, should to the English turn ; 
For then the redskins, with no French allies. 
Would soon succumb to English prowess bold. 

Dame Woodwell and Dame Burbank plied their hands 
With knitting-work, and though of solemn mind 
In danger's hour, discoursed as women do 
Whose hearts on home are fixed, and counted seams. 
And narrowings, and stitches, and disclosed 



8 MARY WOO DWELL, 

The mysteries of shapely leg and foot ; 

And then anon a bit of gossip caught 

Their passing moods, as how Dame Putney ^^ fared, 

And how Dame KimbalP^ kept her household ways. 

There too was youth, but youthful ones but once 

Gave thought to dread, and then to pleasure hied. 

A simple string upon their fingers twirled — 

Cratch cradle — filled their buoyant hearts with glee, 

Unless a throb incautious in the breast 

Of youthful manhood proved anew the strength 

Of the old passion to annoy our peace ; 

For Mary Woodwell was a child of grace, 

And in nine days would bloom in sixteen, ^^ sweet. 

With face, and form, and mien all glorious ; 

And he who thought what was and what might be 

Felt his small world revolve in pain, and sighed. 

The candle burned and told the hour of nine,^^ 
And then was stillness. Goodman Woodwell read 
A passage from the Book, and all were bowed 
While he invoked the Throne and made their quest 
Known to the Highest ; for all were of those 
Who feared the Lord, and His almighty arm 
Was their defence ;^^ then, for the curtained eve. 
That all things be disposed, the goodman piled 
The ashes on the coals, for next day's fire ; 
And last the April night had boundless sway. 



MARY WOODWELL. 



Interlude. 



r^HE shadows lightly grope their sombre way, 
^ The twilight lingers ; from the western sky 

The half- veiled moon looks forth, her placid eye 
Beholding the last scene, the dying day. 

The hour is hushed; far in the drowsy vale, 
A deep bell peals, just once, and tolls a knell ; 
A distant bird trills softly one farewell, 

A single sigh breathes on the lisping gale. 

Then silence reigns supreme. O solemn change. 
When day to night is passing ! How we think 
Of what is and is not, as on the brink 

Of destiny unsolved, profound and strange ! 

Yet day goes sweetly to its gentle close ; 
The semblance of bright peace is ever dear 
And pleasant ; calmly oft time glides to cheer 

The inner heart and chide each hint of woes. 

O soul reflective, hope that oft the light 
Of life dies thus — that nature at the last 
Oft breathes farewell ; and then, all trials passed. 

The scene dissolves in weird and soft delight ! 

But while we muse, dark Erebus unbars 

His deepest gloom ; earth quickly sinks to rest ; 
Tlie watchful moon drops down the shaded west, 

And thought takes up the promise of the stars. 



lO MARY WOO DWELL. 

fHE shrouded night in hope abides, but who 
Forecasts the coming day? Fair innocence 
In soft repose oft dreams of happiness 
While foes complot its doom. The garrison 
Was wreathed in shadows, and its trusting souls 
Slept calmly, as white lilies fold their leaves 
And drop upon the bosom of the lake. 
To ope and greet with smiles to-morrow's sun. 
Refreshed in bloom and perfume, though the morn 
But shows the ruthless hand that plucks their pride. 

The first bright rays broke from the sunlit east, 
And Goodman Woodwell's garrison was stirred, 
As busy bees respond to daylight's call 
To duty and reward. A thoughtless man. 
Of safety only careless, sought the fold. 
Where dwelt the needful kine ; across a path. 
Just westward, the stockade was rudely wrought. 
Strong in its homeliness ; to feed the cows. 
He thither went, but left the door ajar 
That kept the garrison ; in rushed the foe 
That lurked for spoil of guileless flesh and blood. 

The startled inmates, all save two, were made 
The foe's fierce pleasure. He who sought the kine 
Was captured ; he was one of eight, who w^ere 
The goodmen two, with two fair sons of each — 



MA/^V WOOD WELL, II 

Of Woodwell, Benjamin and Thomas, lads 

Of goodly mien and fraught with promise high — 

Of Burbank, Caleb lithe, and Jonathan, 

His peer in gifts that nourish youthful pride — 

Dame Woodwell, too, in savage bondage held 

For sadder fate, and Mary by her side. 

In bonds barbaric, sweetest of the fair, 

A maiden morning gemmed with dew of tears. 

Distinction fateful, strange ! Of two escaped. 

One was a soldier ; trained for courage vast 

And deadly valor, he was found no more : 

The wilderness received him in his flight. 

Dame Burbank, also free, had odd recourse : 

The cellar sought for safety, there she turned 

The one half headless barrel o'er herself. 

And thus eluded all her stupid foes. 

Yet think not that this scene was strangely void 

Of one brave act that proves a heart of steel. 

Dame Woodwell, fearless, of an iron grasp, 

From one red savage wrenched his deadly knife. 

And would have pierced him through, but for her 

friends, 
Who deemed the act of dreadful consequence 
To each and all ; but still Dame Woodwell held 
The weapon hers in triumph, and she cast 
It in the well beyond a savage hand. 



12 MARY WOODWELL. 

Sweet Mary, too, was not of those who pale 

In face of danger, and she fought her foes 

As a fair maiden might, with hands inured 

Alone to kindly toils, till once her breast 

Was by a musket pressed in savage hands, 

Intent on blood ; but even then great fate 

Its strange assertion made ; the savage chief, 

Who led the captors, thought of kindness old, 

That Goodman Woodwell erst to him had shown. 

And rescued Mary, taking her himself 

As his own captive ; Penno was his name ; 

Thus he confirmed the oft reputed grace 

Of thankfulness within a savage heart. 

Such deeds transacted, captures made complete, 

The red men turned their thoughts to other scenes. 

Where sons of France paid bounties for the slaves 

Of war and pillage, hoping for the price 

Of their redemption, while their coffers filled 

With gold accursed, or where perchance the hand 

That captured still retained its cruel sway 

For the same purpose vile, and straightway led 

Their gloomy captives on, with faces bent 

Upon the dim, relentless, cold north star. 



MARY WOOD WELL. IJ, 

Interlude. 

fHE sun looks o'er the eastern hill, 
And swiftly all the world awakes 
To lustrous, beaming light, that breaks 
In rays that all the landscape fill 
With scenes to make the morning glad ; 
But, clouded by uncertain doom. 
The heart repines in helpless gloom, — 
Farewell, sweet home, the morn is sad ! 

The sun mounts up the mid-day height. 

And decks the shining world, ablaze 

With splendor cast on sunlit days 
Of happy spring, to joy invite 
By charms that noon to morn can add ; 

Yet fear enshrouds pale hope the more, 

As that dark shadow walks before, — ' 
P^arewell, sweet home, the noon is sad ! 

The sun sinks down the western sky. 

And softly evening hues unfold 

In richest purple, red, and gold. 
In pride displayed, to bless the eye. 
As night steals on ; but thought grows mad. 

As daylight dies with crimson glow 

Portentous, as of blood-stained woe, — 
Farewell, sweet home, the night is sad ! 



14 MA/^V WOOD WELL. 

fHE captive train, with vain regrets and tears, 
To urgent mandates of their savage guides. 
Their footsteps hastened ; forth they w^ent in pain 
On their sad northern course ; at first they took 
The path that shows the silver Contoocook 
Receiving waters from old Warner's stream. 
The ancient Almstry ;-^^ there they crossed a ford 
To take the Almstry upward in the vale, 
To find an early sawmill, two miles on,^^ 
To which the redskins gave the doom of flame. 
And then kept on ; at length they turned aside 
Through present Sutton to New London, there 
To touch the Little Sunapee by east. 
Its crystal waters smiling in the sun, 
Unheeded ; onward still the restless band 
Pressed hard, to skirt upon the western brink 
The lake Mascoma called, its limpid waves. 
In rippling music on a pebbly shore. 
In vain appealing to the ear of woe ; 
The swift Connecticut of endless flow 
They next beheld in haste, and upstream fast 
Pursued their ceaseless way, and where the hills 
Slope either way to aid the western flow 
Of old St. Francis, once again they turned. 
To follow down to old St. Peter's lake. 
Their course there halting ; for the savage tribe, 
Whose emissaries wrought the dire distress 



MARY WOODWELL, 1 5 

That prompts this narrative, held there their haunt 
And chief abode, and served their French allies ; 
St. Francis w^as the name of this wild tribe 
Who captive held the rarest English maid. 

Nor think this journey thus so briefly told 

Was void of incident ; twelve doleful days 

The captives, pitiful in plight and mien. 

Kept on their dismal way ; through wood and wild. 

O'er stone and log, through snow and waters cold. 

They plodded on ; but once, at eve, each day 

They paused for food, and then the rude repast 

Was chiefly flesh such as the savage loves. 

And from which turns refinement in disgust. 

One eve, in greater stress, a dog was served, 

From which poor Mary turned with loathing sick ; 

Yet once again strange fate revived her heart : 

Her savage master, Fenno, saw her faint 

And hungry, though the wretched meal was spread. 

And his wild heart was touched ; forth with his gun 

He sought a nobler fare, and by his skill 

A pied and thrifty bird, that pecked a tree. 

Became her portion at the setting sun ; 

And she was comforted, and thanked her Lord, 

Who knew His child though in her worst distress. 

But life foredoomed to sad monotony 

Knew little cause to turn the thought aside 



l6 MARY WOO DWELL, 

From the long agony ; each early morn, 
The painful feet resumed the doleful path, 
And all day long the famished spirit sank, 
Till eve a trifling sense of life renewed. 
The pause at wild St. Francis came at length ; 
But then the heart was calloused unto grief. 
And the dull thought of fate had slight regard, 
Its skill too jDOwerless ; and Mary fair 
Was bartered to a squaw of aspect fierce, 
And she feared not ; and Jonathan, the son 
Of Goodman Burbank, found a master rude 
And savage, but his youthful heart was numb ; 
The other six, on whom fell woes unkind. 
Still journeyed on, but parting heard no cries, 
And, on the lofty heights of French Quebec, 
They ceased at last, to wait time's dim decree. 

Interlude. 

BEAR love, behold, the breezes blow, 
By night or day and idly play, 
Nor reck a breath for weal or woe, 
So glide the hours away. 

A tempest sweeps across the sky, 

Though earth is sad the storm is glad. 

O'er tender forms that live or die. 
The thoughtless scene is mad. 



MA/?V WOOD WELL. 1 7 

On, on, the seasons roll, and keep 

Their endless course with wasting force, 

Resistless, though we laugh or weep, — 
Dumb fate, without recourse. 

The soul of faith yet feels a wave 

Of balm that steals within and heals 
The thought with peace, or gay, or grave. 

Thy own sweet face reveals. 



fHE curtain of the sunset drops in haste, 
But night is long. Sad Mary Woodwell found 
Her captive state full soon, but sudden woe 
Forecast a long despair. Youth's careless bloom. 
Consigned to pale solicitude, grew faint 
And lustreless. The child of grace, a slave, 
Her tissues changed to brawn, in labor oft. 
Knew the dull tasks that wrong makes doubly sore, 
And pined in dreariness. She grew and plucked 
The corn ; the samp she pounded ; through the wilds 
She sought the native fruits for savage sale ; 
And on this toil no bright redemption shone. 
Yet Mercy through life's clouds sheds rays of hope. 
Or the tried heart must break, though hope is oft 
Companion of sharp grief. One hopeful day. 
Her father came, and sire and daughter knew 
The joy of recognition, long denied. 

2 



1 8 MARY WOOD WELL. 

The best of all to noble nature hers. 

Her sire was free. Redemption kind had rent 

His bonds in sunder, and with him, indeed, 

Two brothers found release. A smile lit up 

Her careworn face, and then the cloud returned 

With double gloom. An intuition quick 

Had made her ask, "And how has mother fared?" 

The goodman broke the answer to his child 

In sad but gentle tones, — "Your mother dear^ 

Has found the boundless comfort of the saints, 

And rests in God ; give grief for her no more." 

Then Mary struggled with herself, and checked 

Her swelling tears and heard the rueful tale — 

How from the gloomy prison of the French, 

Where Goodman Burbank shared an equal fate, 

The earthly form maternal, that she blessed 

With love and service dutiful, returned 

To its great parent earth, its ransomed soul 

Exalted to the skies. -^"^ Then, comforted 

With pious thoughts, sweet Mary gave her mind 

A moment to herself and faintly smiled ; 

For Goodman Woodwell brought a certain price. 

In sterling money of the royal realm, 

By aid of Chelmsford ;^^ and he sought the ear 

Of Mary's mistress, savage, yet, perchance. 

Touched by the proffer of the world's award, 

Would yield her captive ; and he told the sum. 



majRV woodwell. 19 

Then sorrow poured its flood into his soul, 
As the barbaric vixen, filled with greed 
Penurious, thus unto him replied : 
" The Indian sees the new moon in the sky ; 
It peeps with one small eye ; and then one night 
It looks for more to see ; and more and more 
Its look grows wide, till on the sleeping earth 
It turns its face all full as it can be : 
And so the pale face brings to me his good. 
Bright money ; and he lays and lays it down. 
Some more, some more, till all the pile shall be 
A pound for pound as weighs the girl that grows, 
In silver; then he buys and owns his child." 
The father and the child then spoke again 
But briefly, though he gave her hopeful cheer. 
Such as dark prospects entertain, and told 
His daughter of the friends resolved and true, 
And how one son of Burbank, Jonathan, 
Redeemed, was seeking Caleb's ransom too ; 
And yet, unless the just God otherwise 
Had made decree, she gladly would return 
To home and loved ones, such as God had left 
For earthly recompense and time's reward. 
For trials here below ; and then he said, 
" Put faith in God and wait the blessed day, 
When, sorrows past, the faithful enter rest, 
No more to dread the world and all its woes." 



20 MARY WOOD WELL. 

He took his leave, and Mary gave her heart 
To holy cares and let the time abide, 
Though oft weak nature shed the falling tear, 
Yet symbol not of trust that could not pine. 
The faithful father kept the sacred pledge 
Made to his child, but long was sad delay. 
The savage jade, who Mary held in bonds, 
Had heart as has a harpy, fain to wound 
The nature sensitive, and, as the hawk, 
An eye to quickly see the prey at hand. 
And so with zeal infernal she beheld 
The weighty prize of blood, and life, and love. 
And set her snare. To Mary, slave, she said, 
" The pale-face child must dare not give a sign 
To wet the eye, or take away the smile. 
Or seem to think of home or want it back ; 
For if her father comes and sees her glad 
To go with him, I kill her wnth a blow." 
When Mary heard, she knew not but to play 
The part of satisfaction, for within 
She thought, "My life is but a little span, 
And why unto my father should I add 
Another pang, when he shall see me sad. 
If he should come again? The blessed joy 
Is ours at last, let time do what it may. 
So weary weeks and months and even years 
Recurred to Goodman Wood well, for he trod, 



MARY WOODWELL. 21 

Time after time, the rugged wilderness 

From Massachusetts where his friends abode, 

Up to the southern bound of Canada, 

And then returned, the money in his hand ; 

For she who held his child had cruel moods 

Joined to an iron will, and fell despair 

Began to deeply darken all his face 

And bend his form ; for, in the very truth. 

Thrice twelve months passed, and Mary still was 

bound. 
But God is merciful to those who wait 
His word, though nature shrinks in doubt unkind. 

Interlude. 

®UT of the dim uncertain haze, 
Overhanging unaccomplished years, 
Effulgent, breaks the pledge of days, 

Along lifers path, besprent with tears, 
Hope's message, craved by tongue and pen, — 
Adieu until we meet again. 

Bright ati revoir ! The mist dissolves 

Along time's untrod avenues, 
While thought's swift sentiment revolves, 

By instinct sped that love indues. 
To cry out of the hearts of men, — - 
Adieu until we meet again. 



22 MARY WOOD WELL, 

Sweet promise ! What art thou, O soul 
Of voice prophetic ? Shall the hours 

For separation dark that toll 

In vain attune when absence lowers ? 

In this the word of boundless ken, — 
Adieu until we meet again? 

fHERE was, within the circuit of the tribes 
That clustered on the low St. Lawrence shore, 
A man, a Frenchman born, of high repute 
Among the savage clans, who viewed him oft 
As one omniscient, for, physician, he 
Had skill to soothe a pain and bind a wound. 
And, full of mystic lore of drug and herb, 
Could cunningly devise the potent spell 
That healed distress and make the being glad ; 
And he, for love of justice to his kind. 
Was friend of Mary Woodwell, and he knew 
Her secret history and hoped release ; 
And, by the unseen counsels of her friends, 
He sought to gain her cause and liberty. 
He found her in the wild, where she had gone 
To pluck the native fruits, as was her wont 
In time of ripeness, and he strayed, and stayed 
A little by her side, and helped her toil ; 
And then, because he knew the English tongue. 
He said, '' Would you be free and find a home 



MARY WOODWELL. 23 

Among your friends far from this cruel land?" 

Then Mary startled with a tinge of fear, 

Though she was glad that thus a kindly tone 

Had reached her ear, framed in her native speech. 

Though from a stranger, since she captive was 

To a hard mistress ; and she listened well. 

But said, " What can I do in this my plight, 

A helpless slave to her who binds me fast, 

And claims my very soul to bide her will?" 

Then he responded, — " Listen now to me ; 

Do all I say, and all shall come to pass. 

Feign sickness ; I will be pretended help. 

And make you nauseate with bitter drugs ; 

And then, when all your nature is oppressed 

With sickly hue and feeling, I will tell 

Your savage mistress she must sell you soon 

Or lose a bounty ; for you shall appear 

Like one who steps within the gate of death 

A moment later ; and she will relent 

For love of gain in ways penurious. 

And you shall purchased be. Your very friends 

Are even now all ready for the deed ; 

Their presence near, you ransom soon shall see. 

And, quickly turning well, shall freedom know 

And happiness regain with home and kin." 

Then Mary felt her heart leap high for joy. 

And then it sank as erst ; at once she spoke, 



24 MARY WOOD WELL, 

As one in holy dread, and thus she said : 
"Ah me ! But can I do the thing you ask, 
Since I was reared in truth, and never yet 
A falsehood spoke or acted ? for I fear 
The Lord who loves alone the upright heart 
And hates the lying tongue. Can He regard 
A child like me who once forgets His will?" 
The kind physician, he of subtler ken, 
Her doubt to fain dispel, recounted then 
The legends of the sacred Book adored 
By Christian faith, and said, '^Remember well 
How ancient Abraham, in deadly fear. 
The son of Gerar did in mind delude. 
As once did David, for his life's concern. 
The man of Gath deceive with drivelled beard. 
Do you as they, and God will bless your deed." 
Then she was comforted, encouraged ; then 
She gave her word, as child like her would do. 
In face of one like him of wise discourse 
And friendly mien ; but promise hardly proved 
Her strictest need ; a nature delicate, 
Refined, and sensitive, could brook no strain 
Like that upon her ; and that night she tossed 
In changing heat and cold, and dread concern 
Of wild reflection, till a surging tide 
Of anguish in her made her cry for pain. 
The savage vi^cen heard, and loosed her fears ; 



MARY WOOD WELL. 25 

At Mary's couch she felt the fevered brow 

And marked the mind distracted ; then she ran 

To him, the great physician, knowing all 

The secret world and art of medicine, 

And told how she who was her bounden slave, 

Lay sick and restless, and would need his aid. 

Responsive to the call, in haste he came, 

A smile without, within deceitfulness, 

And, comforting her mistress by his mien. 

He Mary plied with potent, bitter draughts. 

Too wild and weak to even semblance make 

Of slight resistance, and her fell distress 

Was quickened. Time fled on and days went by. 

But Mary drooped, and drooped, in deeper plight 

Of unfeigned sickness, and her aspect bore 

The sign of one who hastens to the shade 

Of death, the last destroyer of the frame ; 

And then he, friend and foe in deed combined. 

Said, ''Sell her, for she hastens to the end 

Of life's short journey ; gain you what you may." 

Alarmed as one who lucre loves alone, 

The vixen heeded, and she took his word. 

A petty sum, one hundred livres,^^ paid 

In pledge, was Mary's ransom from her thrall ; 

Yet she knew not ; and many days had gone, 

When, sense returning with her frame restored. 

She heard it all, and blessed her Lord, whose hand 



26 MARY WOOD WELL, 

Had saved her ; and she prayed and pardon sought 
For all her sins of will, thought, word, and deed. 
That year was also Caleb Burbank freed. 



Interlude. 

(^ LIGHT is the wound upon the tireless hand, 
>^ Yet verily anon a hint it wakes, 

A little pledge of the deep thought's demand 
For cause of which the mighty world partakes. 

A trifling care perturbs the restless mind, 
But from it still a thread reflective leads 

To the great scheme of sovereign design, 
By which the law unchangeable proceeds. 

So insignificant ! The deathless heart 
A pang infests, but of a boundless soul 

A dream thence talks, to patient love impart 
The end for which the ceaseless aeons roll. 



^^HE mills of God grind slowly, and the heart 
W Of one who treads the path of sweetest hope 
Has need of truest patience. Wisdom high 
Takes note of each slight fact and circumstance 
That bears upon the progress of a soul, 



MARY WOOD WELL. 27 

Whose cause precedes the claims impetuous 

Of sense and its delights. Her ransom found 

By purchase, Mary Woodwell took her way, 

By guidance, up the river to the isle 

Of Montreal, where was the namesake town. 

To wait the slow decision of the will 

Of civil prudence, famed for long delay. 

Six weary months she waited for the boon 

Of perfect liberty, and then her feet 

At last turned homeward. Sturdy Dutchman true. 

To ransom negro slaves by Indians caught. 

New York their home, had come to Montreal, 

And they in kindness would fair Mary guide 

Upon her homeward way. Such escort she 

In haste accepted, and they lead her on. 

They crossed a belt of land beyond the stream, 

And, up the Richelieu, of crystal flow. 

They sought Champlain, and on its bosom plied 

The thirsty oar, or spread the snow-white sail 

That pants for breath, and sped the waters o'er, 

E'en to Lake George, and thus pursued their way. 

Then, taking for a space the land again. 

They came to where the Hudson's lapsing course 

Bore on to Albany, the place where they 

Would gladly be, and where at length they saw 

Their journey ended, save the gentle maid 

Had farther yet to seek her happy goal. 



28 MARY WOODWELL, 

The rude hearts of the wild have tender mien 

Oft for the innocent, and on her way 

Sweet Mary saw the gem that shines within 

The rougher nature ; for the boatmen, bred 

To hard concerns, had heard lier tale of woe, 

And, touched with pity, sought her path to strew 

With blossoms of such love as roughness gives 

To beauty in distress, and made her bear 

The sense of their compassion ; and they brought 

The choicest food their humble fare allowed, 

To set before her ; and betimes one lent 

His thicker garment for her greater shield 

Against the damp, chill breeze that swept the lake. 

While she returned the grace of thankfulness 

That left that impress pure upon the man 

That raised him higher in the scale of good. 

And thus wrought blessing. When she found a rest 

At pleasant Albany, the good Dutch dames. 

That knew the sorrows of her passing lot. 

Shed tears, and, in the bounty of their rich. 

Kind souls, brought forth the simple, rural aids 

To greater comfort, and her heart refreshed 

With peace that woman unto woman brings 

In sore privation and with sadness worn. 

Thus Mary rested and her strength renewed 
Until the day when she would gladly take 



MARY WOOD WELL. 29 

The last steps homeward. Eastward, miles by land, 

Lay her loved birthplace, Hopkinton by name, 

In Massachusetts. Thence her father took, 

In her young years, and for a better thrift, 

His household to a new and rude abode 

In high New Hampshire, where the settlers gave 

A township wrested from the wilderness 

The name of one they loved and left behind. 

Still dear to memories of early days. 

To that loved home of childhood's rare delights. 

By escort wise, fair Mary held her w^ay, 

Till, by the patience of great Goodness blessed. 

She leaned upon the bosom of her home. 

Hers was the greeting of affection true. 

But deeper far than that which simply bids 

A loved one welcome. There were tears of joy 

Such as alone the living shed to see 

The life consigned to death revive again. 

To comfort and to bless a long despair. 

But Mary, moved to strange emotions strong. 

Such fervor of embrace could scarcely give 

A loving recompense, for she was dazed 

With bright reality, and seemed to faint 

For strength to bear the dazzling certainty ; 

And then they gave her rest and boundless cheer. 

In quiet and seclusion, till she felt 

Her heart return, and then to all her friends, 



30 MARY WOO DWELL. 

Who came from far and near to hear her tale, 
She gave the story of her lasting woes 
And final glad release ; and then they shared 
A common wonder at the mighty hand 
And purpose marvelous in God's decrees : 
So when the holy man, who came with awe, 
In presence of omnipotence to save, 
Had bowed his head and uttered, '' Let us pray ! ' 
They joined in reverence, the while he said, 
" O Lord ! — But what are we to see this day, 
And mark the sureness of Thy mighty word. 
With sin so sorely pressed? Forgive us now 
Who oft have doubted of thy promises. 
And give us faith indeed that e'er may blush 
To hold Thy truth but in the world's suspense I" 
As thus he prayed, all hearts dissolved, and each 
Felt lifted in the sphere of trust divine. 



Interlude. 

(^WEET spirit, 'tis thy sacred hour 
>® Of benediction ; gently here 
Obtains thy consecrated power 

O'er him in joy that thou art near, 
Yet who hath care in silent fee 
Before a faultless soul like thee. 



MARY WOODWELL, 3 1 

Swift time will fly, thy presence go, 

And, brooding o^er a past estate. 
He will an apprehension know 

That makes dull grief reanimate, 
But still betimes will smile to see 
That care doth mould a soul like thee. 

Thou wilt return again one day. 

With him to dwell, O darling sprite. 

And be a blissful boon for aye. 
Sun of his sun, light of his light. 

Nor care shall intervene, for he 

Shall be a perfect soul like thee. 

flME has its recompenses, though the soul 
Waits nobler evidence of judgment true 
Than earth can demonstrate, and hence the thought 
Sw^ays oft from grief to joy, when pain withholds 
Its dart, and holds in outward specious fee 
The compensation partial of the world. 
The days in rapid flight receded fast, 
And Mary Wood well, in her outward guise, 
Forbade each hint of woe, and to the realm 
Of duty gave attention, while she plied 
Her hands in useful service, and withal 
She wore the cheerful face that speaks of peace 
Found best in deed and disposition bent 
On tasks ennobling. Thus her life sped on. 
Her strange adventures daily less involved 



32 MAI^V WOOD WELL. 

Within the thought and conversation found 

Of frequent friends and oft companions dear. 

So she became as one who lived and moved 

In no eccentric orbit, but whose course 

Lay in the common circuit of the sphere 

In which she blended. Five full, patient years 

She thus existed ; but there came a change, 

As ever oft the aspect of a life 

Knows some departure. She was woman born, 

And owned a woman's heart, as ever true 

As needle to the pole ; and when the young 

And noble Jesse Corbett, well esteemed, 

Had wooed her oft and kindly, till the zeal 

Of love unfeigned unloosed his halting tongue. 

To ask the question old, yet ever new 

To blooming maidenhood, she felt her heart 

Respond with inward thrills of bounding bliss : 

And Mary was a maid of sturdy worth 

And honest word, — not one who muttered No 

And still meant Yes, the while she idly teased. 

With art and ruse, the true beseeching heart 

Of manhood, — and she gave him thus reply : 

" My love, kind Jesse, knits with yours indeed, 

As I am honored by your bold request ; 

If I can serve you nobly, I am glad 

To thus requite the worthy homage borne 

By you to me ; but I must still remind 



MA/^V WOOD WELL. 33 

Your thoughtful sense that I am but a maid 
To sorrow born that chides a glozing world, 
And turns the mind to surer aims and ends 
Than earth can promise by its luring gifts. 
If you and I consent to stem the tide 
Together of this nature's toil and pain, 
We may at least find comfort of our souls. 
Each helping each spur onward to the goal 
Of God's great blessing. Other things entice 
Me not. Wed not your anxious life to mine, 
While the world's pride commands your one desire. '' 
While Jesse Corbett listened, all his faith 
Renewed and strengthened ; for he was a man 
In thought and purpose godly — not as one 
Who whines and prates and to the world displays 
His proud profession, but he served the Lord 
In daily walk and conversation meek. 
So they were married ; and, as custom oft 
Did then prevail, they sought a newer home 
And scene just rescued from the northern wild ; 
New Hampshire beckoned back its ransomed lost, 
And Corbett led his faithful, blushing bride 
To the same spot where, just nine years before, 
She met the doleful fate that tried her soul. 
And cast a shade forever on her path 
Through life's deep valley. There they set their bounds 
And reared their altar ; and their rest was found. 
3 



34 MARY WOODWELL. 

The garrison had fallen to decay, 

And Corbett restoration duly made 

Till reconstruction wrought its perfect end, 

And all the place was fairer ; yet was thought 

Still mindful, by each passing fact and sign, 

Of the dread tragedy, as from the well 

Was drawn the savage knife, a trophy rare 

Of woman's daring deed in danger dire ; 

And ever path, and door, and implement 

Suggested oft the scenes of that dark day. 

Brisk Corbett felled the wood, and sowed the field, 

And trained the orchard, which in years before 

Brave Goodman Woodwell planted, ^^ and he gave 

The land its increase, rich reward of wise 

And patient labor. Mary, too, within 

Her pleasant walls, the household pledge of love 

Kept bright and shining by her labors due 

And smiles unchanging. Plenty spread the board 

With tempting products of the goodwife's skill. 

Though oft the cards, the wheel, the patient loom. 

And all the incidents constructive of 

The sphere domestic, gave their sure attest 

Of her great virtue who was wife and queen. 

Yet greater still was love's prosperity ; 

Two gentle boys, the first Josiah named. 

The other, Jesse, made the household gleam 

With purer radiance of love's sweet fire, 



MARY WOODWELL. 35 

And all the home was happy ; then at once 

The providential word evoked the sign 

That earth is transient, and the world's delight 

Is but a moment in its permanence. 

Four brief years fled, and then the piercing stroke 

Fell suddenly and wounded all the scene. 

Strong Corbett, mindless of uncertain fate. 

With flooded banks would fain the Almstry swim. 

And, prowess failing, sank beneath the stream, 

His lifeless form far rolling 'neath the wave 

To ancient Dunstable — the Contoocook 

And Merrimack its dead weight carrying — 

And only rescued there from the cold depths 

For Christian burial. O sore the dart 

That struck the soul of hapless Mary then. 

With her two infant boys ! for he was not. 

Who gave them home and blest security. 

Yet Mary was like those who take the cross 

With greater ease upon the shoulders tried 

And calloused by the burden often borne ; 

And she had patient been in loneliness 

Had trust divine been then of her unknown. 

Thus life wore on, and Mary in her home 

Was found the daily servant of the will 

Of Him who in the hollow of His hand 

Holds fate and circumstance. Her household ways 



36 MARY WOODWELL. 

Still proved the models of her sisters kind, 
Who came with sympathy to ease her heart, 
And for her comfort smile, and speak the words 
That bear the accents of undying peace. 
Her tender boys in favor grew apace, 
In wisdom trained that fits the childish ear. 
With fair example that to conscience gives 
Its perfect evidence ; and all was well. 
Then, in the time that faultless Wisdom chose. 
There came transition. This, a shifting world. 
Has strange reactions. Once a pain we bear. 
And then a pleasure lures us from our grief. 
The darkest cloud precedes the sunlight clear, 
By greater contrast doubled in its gleam. 
So Mary's life renewed its household light. 
And she was solaced with the bliss of home 
Made consecrate with wifely love, returned 
By manhood virtuous, and true, and kind : 
And then her humble hearthstone glowed amain 
With rarer lustre, and her heart was full ; 
And to the Lord she gave her thankful praise. 
Good Jeremiah Fowler was her spouse, 
And five fair children blessed the sacred bond 
And holy union, e'er again she wore 
The weeds of widowhood, and still her God 
Praised for His goodness, while her eyes above 
She turned for treasure of her future days. 



MARY WOOD WELL. 37 



Interlude. 

T was a moment — time as long 

As oft is when a sudden thought, 
Quick offspring of conviction strong, 

Within the depths of mind is wrought ; 
Ours was like magic vision, keen 

To catch, within a mystic space, 
A view to other eyes unseen. 

As we stood looking, face to face. 



We met, beheld, but made no sign ; 

The world discerned no inward spring 
Of rarer instinct, force divine. 

To life's deep recognition bring ; 
Nor earth shall tell, with subtle glance 

And gesture, of a time and place. 
And each romantic circumstance. 

When we stood looking, face to face. 

Yet since, above, beyond, and through 

The dark environment of sense, 
We mark a co-relation true. 

That needs no outward evidence ; 
Our souls betimes steal forth and meet 

Each other in the rapt embrace 
Of silent love's assurance sweet, 

And thus stand looking, face to face. 



38 MARY WOOD WELL. 

fHE subtle motion of the restless mind, 
In mystic phase and contemplation, oft 
The wisest thought surprises. In this tale. 
Which multiplies the scenes of dark distress, 
Is seen the elevation of the soul 
That springs from pain triumphant to the life 
Of ripe fruition in the sphere of love 
And holy mission. Mystery indeed 
Such consummation is to those who feel 
And see it working in the deeper holds 
Of being 1 Far more strange to those that mark 
Alone its outward aspect ! Godliness, 
In heart and mind exultant, is the theme 
That angels study till their sacred lips 
Are dumb with silence for the view of truth 
Too deep for utterance, and even while 
The realm of surer vision, far enlarged. 
In inner sense and outward evidence, 
Outreaches space and time, and oft supplants 
The eye of nature, blinded by the sun 
Of the rapt spirit, tried and purified. 
Like foretaste, they, the saints that dwell below. 
Reward of patience in the path of trust. 
Oft know in feebler measure, and they see 
The stars above, while yet their feet below 
Creep on the passages of earth's dark night. 
So often Mary Wood well, in her youth. 



MARY WOOD WELL. 39 

Caught glimpses of the sky in days of dark, 

And when her riper faith evolved in light, 

And clear assurance of direction true, 

And even tender in the path of pain, 

She saw in lesser view as she was seen 

Of Him who, Minister as well as Lord, 

Had e'er remembered mercy ; and as those 

Who fain release the fact to fondly grasp 

The rich ideal, she attachment gave. 

In the last stage of this, her mortal life, 

To that ideal band who fain would be 

Exempt from earth's desires, and only know 

The joys that dwell forever in the heart 

Of holy love and chastity unfeigned. 

A son and two fair grandsons^^ of the maid 

And matron taught of woe, had respite found 

Of all time's troubles in the peaceful town 

Of Enfield, ^^ where the Shakers, virgin sons 

And daughters of the twice incarnate Lord,^^ 

Held their chaste court and kept the world at bay. 

With silent longing, likewise aspirant 

Of purer pleasure, Mary kept her thought 

At first, and gave no accent to the love 

That burned within her. Then her second spouse. 

In answer to the summons of his God, 

Passed to the promise of life consecrate, ^^ 

And she was free of bonds she would not break 



40 MARY WOOD WELL. 

For a rapt fancy, though still unprofane : 

Yet when the solemn rites, of duty claimed 

And sacred pleasure prompted, to the name 

And memory of him who shared in faith 

Her lot domestic, full accomplished were. 

Her lips no more withheld the silent thought 

And purpose of her soul. Then they who heard. 

With patience in regret, did fain implore 

And bid her banish all the vain conceit. 

" Your heart is sad," they said, " your grief is deep 

For a fond husband lost to earthly love ; 

But when the burden of your present woe 

Rolls off with time and change, you shall have peace 

In social ways accustomed. Chide your care 

For life so strange and more for you unmeet !" 

But she said, " Nay, dear friends, I am not grieved 

Beyond true consolation in the face 

Of such great mercy as the Lord bestows 

On those that trust Him. I have wept before. 

And found Him gracious. Do not deem me now 

Untrustful ! I have greater cause indeed 

To do the pleasure that allures my heart." 

Then they, astonished, asked, " What cause indeed 

Should lead you to the step you fain would take. 

Save that which knits you to your family?" 

But Mary said, " My son and grandsons true 

Are dear indeed, but I have thought and heed 



MA/^V WOODWELL. 4I 

Of what is greater. In my secret soul, 

A call divine implores and bids me rise 

And follow ; nor may I resist the hand 

That leads me in the way invisible, 

As oft my life has proved with many signs 

Unfailing. '^^" Then, with wonder still more deep, 

They said, ''What signs? Explain this mystery!" 

Then she as one who speaks to ease the load 

Of fruitless silence long and fain relieved. 

Thus said : ^' If I indeed may tell you all, 

There is a messenger that haunts my path 

Through life's long journey. From the Lord, I trust, 

The guidance comes to turn my thoughtless feet 

Where'er His pathway leads. Shall I relate 

The method, faintly seen and yet unknown 

In its great working? On one silent night. 

Before the Indians came and took us slaves 

A little later, as I lay asleep, 

A vision strange came o'er me, and I trod 

In shallow water that, from step to step. 

In depth increased, and, though my heart, in fear, 

Would fain return, I could not find the strength 

To change direction ; and to depths I moved 

vStill deeper, till at last, in wild distress, 

My lips I seemed to feel submerge below 

The breathless wave ; and then I thought to drown. 

But for the hand of some one strange but kind, 



42 MARY WOOD WELL. 

Who seized mine own and led me to the safe 

And happy shore." She finished, and her friends 

Replied, '' A dream indeed ! Yet what are dreams? 

Who dreams not to relate his idle dream 

And then forget it? Pray you do the same !" 

But still with earnest tone she held discourse 

And said, '' A dream it may be, but of this 

What think you ? E'er kind Jesse met his fate 

A few days after, when the daylight shone 

Across the valley, I was waking fast 

And saw each form and aspect of the room 

Wherein I slept, and still I looked adown 

The Almstry, where my husband took a boat 

And floated down the stream, nor said good-bye 

Though I in tears did beckon long for word 

And answer ; and I rose surprised to find 

My eyes still weeping while my face was wet." 

They, thoughtful, heard and said, " We sleep and think 

We wake, and in that fitful sleep we dream 

As ever ; and perchance an idle dream 

May seem like life, so many dreams there are ; 

And who regards his dreams and does not find 

Too many for concern, much more for proof 

Of one that haply seems to entertain 

Solution ? Let your quiet peace return !" 

But Mary could not cease for zeal intense, 

And thus continued : " What say you to this? 



MARY WOOD WELL. 43 

Just e'er kind Jeremiah took his flight 

And left the world, I, busied with my cares, 

One quiet day received impressions strange, 

Though in bright waking. All the world without 

Was still, and not a careless wind but stirred 

The slightest bough ; and still within the room 

Came a soft breeze that fluttered like the sound 

Of gentle wings ; and then it bore away 

In the far distance, to the sweetest notes 

Of faintly sounding music, dying low 

In strains that seemed like angel voices tuned." 

They listened as with awe ; but then they said, 

" The air is full of sounds by night or day, 

And, when one thinks of naught but duty near. 

Is quick to work surprisal, and it fills 

The ear of rapt imagination full 

And makes us wonder. Turn your thought away 

From this vain fancy !" But she would beseech 

Once more attention. ^' Hear but this," she said : 

'' Three days ago, I from the window looked 

Fain to the hilP^ where lies his body now 

Who was my husband ; as I looked, I felt 

A grief for loss and thought the world unkind ; 

And then it seemed as if the place around 

Had new creation, and I stood alone 

In silent wonder though in strange delight. 

Then soon I saw, as in a holy mood, 



44 MARY WOO DWELL. 

With noiseless feet, in robes of purest white, 

Bright men and women, and they formed a line 

Of light before me, bending halfway round 

As does the moon when new within the west, 

And, pausing, beckoned with their pious hands, 

And whispered, ' Come away !' and I was glad 

To follow with them ; but just then the scene 

Changed back again, and I was left alone. 

I will not try you more. Say what you will ! " 

They thought and pondered, then one spoke at length, - 

" Our sister Mary has her own desire 

And present purpose. Let her seek the Lord 

And bide His pleasure. He has use for all 

In His great plan, and turns the scattered feet 

To His safe paths, if but all trust in Him 

And seek His word. Our sister goes her way, 

And, praying oft, let each one seek her peace." 

Then she was comforted, while those around 

Withdrew with wishes kind, and she reposed 

In thankfulness serene and faith sublime. 

Interlude. 

§ FRIENDS and friendships, ye that erst 
So closely dwelt with me, though now 
Swift change, us meeting, hath dispersed. 
How vain that thoughtless pledge and vow ! 



MARY WOO DWELL. 45 

We clasped our hands and gave the sign 

That bore the fealties that years 
Should break not ; yet life's firm design 

All sundered; then loss dried its tears. 

Calm memory doth lightly glance 

On other days, nor ask surcease 
Of vantage new nor old mischance, 

And kindness whispers, '' Go in peace 



f" 



fHE solemn psalmist tolls the mournful knell 
Of time's departed worth. Our threescore years 
And ten express the comfort of our days, 
And though they drag perchance to fourscore years 
Their strength is labor still and endless grief, 
So soon is certain death and nothingness. 
Dark, dread conception ! Yet the sphere of soul 
Reacts and manifests its nobler hopes 
And aspirations in the face of age. 
And to pale dissolution often smiles 
In triumph o'er the world's relentless fears. 
There is an energy in human hearts 
That, e'er in varied phase and circumstance, 
Arouses, at the call of perfect trust 
Of life and sympathy divine, to shape 
The thoughts of men to frames of smiling peace 
And holy pleasure, as they walk the path 
That ends in death of doleful sadness free. 



46 MARY WOO DWELL. 

Thus she, whose life this simple tale records, 

In fulness of the faith that blooms from love 

And service constant, tried as gold is tried, 

With tested pureness, in life's ripeness known 

Of three score years and twelve, assumed her way 

To nature's goal with sweet complacency. 

In a congenial fold of kindred souls. 

The mystic band in Canterbury's pale,^"^ 

She found the welcome sought, and, oft engaged 

On duty's glad occasion, where each heart 

And service leaned on each, for love's ends meet. 

She watched her day glide to the sunset soft. 

And rich, and glorious. Then when the shades 

Of eve dropped lower, on her patient couch 

She laid her down for her last strife and pledge 

Of life triumphant in the grasp of death. 

A hundred years were drawing to their close, ^^ 

A wasted frame remained their only prey. 

As she lay dying, while, on either side, 

A sister held her hand — an elder one. 

And one a younger, meet indeed to be 

Thus stationed in love's duty, as the old 

And young conjoin in one in God's great scheme 

Of youth eternal in the starry realm 

Of blessing. E'er she loosed in perfect sleep 

Pale nature's care, as, restless on the strand, 

The softest waves lapse lightly to and fro, 



MARY WOOD WELL. 47 

Though the strong tide inclines but to the deep, 

Her outward currents flowed and then reflowed, 

Yet gently, while the torrent of her soul 

Swept to the ocean of unbounded calm. 

She felt no burden, but the mind of sense, 

In fickle station, in pale slumbers tossed, 

Moved thoughtlessly to mutter, " Have they come?" 

With troubled features. Then the elder friend 

And sister spoke, and gently said, "Who come?" 

Then promptly said unconscious nature, " They — 

The foe — the captors !" But the sister said, 

'' Nay, sister, foes no more can rudely harm 

Our dear one now who blessed safety finds 

In the Eternal Bosom." Then in calm 

She lay a space, and then reacting throes 

Of mindless nature murmured on her tongue, 

" O tell me, am I free, and going home?" 

The while the face expressed the painful doubt. 

Then the kind sister said, '' Yea, free indeed 

From all the bonds of time, and going fast 

To the bright home of ransomed spirits blest." 

Then rest came o'er her, and she breathed again 

As one who sleeps and dreams a pleasant dream. 

An hour passed by, and then, as oft the flame, 

That flickers last upon the nightly hearth. 

Leaps in intenser glow to fall in dark. 

The face of Mary beamed with light serene 



48 MARY WOODWELL. 

And conscious ; and, with sweetness in her words 
She told her peace and said, with gentle voice, 
" Dear brothers, sisters, I am going home ; 
The pathway opens, and the sunlight clear 
Reveals the certain goal. My loved ones wait 
With out-stretched arms in welcome to receive 
Me coming ; and in love's sweet gratitude, 
I say Good-bye ; be patient to the last. 
And all shall follow." Then she closed her eyes,— 
A few soft breathings, and the pale form sank, 
And death was captor of the world's best pride. 
The kind attendants, at the solemn couch. 
Paused in the aspect of reflection deep. 
And gave their thoughts to silence. All without 
Dark autumn^^ wore dead summer's faded sheen. 
A chill breath softly swept around the scene. 
And, dying far away, sighed in the trees. 
Sobbed in the grass, and wept among the corn. 



MARY VVOODVVELL, 49 

POSTLUDE. 

^ REALM of splendor and delight, . 
^ From vexing bonds of time and sense, 
The spirit craves ecstatic flight 

To thy sweet boon of recompense ; 
Bright hope, expectant, longing, peers 
With eager eyes to scenes to come. 
And faith in confidence endears 
Thy promised rest, Elysium. 

Elysium ! Yet while we dwell 

Anticipant, a silent thought 
Steals in and lures us like a spell. 

Lifers brief award of fulness wrought ; 
The bosom thrills, nor judgment deems 

Earth vain nor exultation dumb. 
And all the world's wide aspect seems 

Thy border land, Elysium. 

Then quick remembrance oft convenes 

The teeming raptures of the years. 
And contem^Dlation holds its gleans 

The compensation of the spheres ; 
And the light being haply feels 

Each transport earnest of the sum 
Of blessed joys when death reveals 

Thy blissful walks, Elysium. 



NOTES 



1. Page 5. This scene is in Hopkinton, N. H., of which 
Contoocook, on the river of the same name, is the north 
village. 

2. Page 5. Gould's hill is a name of the northern brow of 
a ridge of land running north-easterly and south-westerly about 
three miles. The name. Putney's hill is often given to the 
whole ridge. 

3. Page 5. Kearsarge, the highest elevation in Merrimack 
county, is distinctly seen in the north-west from Gould's hill. 

4. Page 5. The Minks are a collection of hills in Warner. 

5. Page 7. The exact year implied was 1746. 

6. Page 7. This garrison stood just a few rods southerly 
from the present residence of Dea. Charles A. Morrill. 

7. Page 7. The site of Samuel Burbank's house is still 
identified by the depression of the ancient cellar on the east- 
erly side of the road leading from Hopkinton village to Con- 
toocook and between the houses ofM. Tenney Clough and 
George Chase. 

8. Page 7. The so called ''War of the Austrian Succes- 
sion," involving contention between England and France, 



52 NOTES. 

caused the English settlers in America much peril on account 
of incursions of Indians, the natural allies of the French. 

9. Page 7. Louisburg, a mighty fortress of the French on 
Cape Breton island, was captured by the English in 1745. 

10. Page 8. Putney's fort was at the same time on the 
southern brow of Putney's hill near the end of the village 
road. 

1 1 . Page 8 . KimbalFs fort was at the same time in the 
south-east part of Hopkinton, nearly opposite the present res- 
idence of James K. Story, on the main road from Hopkinton 
to Concord. 

12. Page 8. Mary Woodwell was born April 30, 1730, 
and consequently was within nine days of sixteen, the day 
implied in the annotated line being April 21. 

13. Page 8. Before the use of clocks, it was the custom to 
reckon time at evening by the length of candle burned. 

14. Page 8. The religious temperament of David Wood- 
well is attested by the fact that he was one of the first mem- 
l)ers of the Hopkinton Congregational church, formed in 
1757, and its second deacon, chosen in 1760. The religious 
character of the Woodwells and Burbanks, though established 
in part by church records, is assumed also in view of the 
prominent identification of religion in the society of the 
time and locality expressed. 

15. Page 14. The early settlers of Warner, north of Hop- 
kinton, were from Amesbury, Mass., and they gave the 



MOTES, J3 

name, New Amesbury, to the early township. The chief 
river of the town was called the Amesbury river. There is 
historical evidence that some of the early residents of the 
vicinity pronounced the name Almstry, and this pronuncia- 
tion is retained for the sake of the meter of the verse. 

1 6. Page 14. This spot is now in Davisville, in Warner, 
and the saw-mill appears to have been the first in the town- 
ship. The mill was built about 1740. 

17. Page 18. Mrs. Woodwell and Samuel Burbank died 
in prison at Quebec of yellow- fever. 

18. Page 18. As the narrative hereafter shows, the early 
residents of Hopkinton, N. H., came from the town of the 
same name in Massachusetts. David Woodwell, after his 
ransom, evidently returned to Massachusetts, where Chelms- 
ford raised a gratuity in aid of both the Woodwell and Bur- 
bank families. On the 5th of February, 1749, ^43, 8^. had 
been collected for this purpose. 

19. Page 25. The sum was equal to $18.50. 

20. Page 34. Tradition says that the first orchard in the 
north part of Hopkinton was in close proximity to WoodwelPs 
garrison, and, by poetic license, it is assumed that the trees 
were planted by the proprietor of the fort. 

21. Page 39. In 1792, Josiah Corbett, his wife, and two 
sons, Jesse and Thomas, joined the Shakers. 

22. Page 39. The Sliakers liave had a society in Enfield 
since about 1782. 



54 NOTES. 

23. Page 39. The Shakers believe that Christ has been 
made incarnate twice — once in the person of Jesus of Naza- 
reth, and once in that of Ann Lee, the founder of the sect. 

24. Page 39. Jeremiah Fowler is said to have died about 
the year 1802. 

25. Page 41. That the heroine of this story was a person 
of psychological gifts and experiences, there is no positive 
evidence ; but, because such gifts and experiences are reputed 
among the Shakers, they are ascribed to Mary by poetic 
license. 

26. Page 43. An ancient cemetery on Putney^s hill was 
possibly the burial place of Jeremiah Fowler. 

27. Page 46. A Shaker society has existed in Canterbury 
since about 1782. 

28. Page 46. The heroine of this story died in her looth 
year. 

29. Page 48. The day was the 3d of October, 1829. 







^ 
■i^.^^:^ 




